


The Gravekeeper

by SebastianC



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 07:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21334498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianC/pseuds/SebastianC
Summary: A story about a young man with a secret, and his willingness to do whatever is necessary to keep what is rightfully his.
Kudos: 1





	The Gravekeeper

Charles Clark was 23 when his father died and burying him had been the hardest thing he had ever done. Granted, at 23 years old, it is not as if he had a lot of personal experience with hardship and loss. The worst he was sure, was yet to come in the forthcoming 60 some odd years he had left. If he had luck on his side, stayed in relatively decent shape, remained cancer free, avoided lethal car accidents, escaped falling down the staircase, regained balance after slipping in the shower, and remained vigilant against the vicious sting of bees (for he was very, acutely allergic). Then when his time came, he would welcome death with open arms, refusing to succumb to the regret that many people feel at the ends of their lives. Charles knew intimately the grief of loss, the regret people would feel, seeing people come and go every day to lay flowers and trinkets on the graves of relatives and friends long past. But with Charles’ youth, he had never thought he would be feeling the same pain so soon. 

With sweat running down his face, he used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow and set the shovel that he used to dig his father’s grave on the ground. He looked up at the sky, overcast and darkening quickly, and then looked back at the hole in the ground that would be his father’s burial plot. He had dug many holes just like this one as the years had gone by, and he had gotten quite good at it. His father would on occasion compliment him on the job well done, and that the bodies that would soon fill those holes would be more than happy to settle in them for eternity.

Charles felt comfortable in the cemetery. This was his home, the only home he had ever known, and it would be his home for the foreseeable future. With his father’s untimely passing, and with no other relatives that had any remote interest in the business of death, the certainty that the torch had been passed onto him was palpable. He would rise to the occasion. He would make his father proud of him.

He would be the new caretaker of the graveyard. And he would be the best damn caretaker this graveyard had ever seen. Charles pulled off his gloves and tossed them to the ground next to the shovel. He took one last look at the hole in the ground and nodded to himself. Dad would indeed be happy here. 

Charles began to walk towards the main house on the large property that served as an office and living quarters. The building was a modestly sized, single family home, but with large living quarters that had been converted into a sort of lobby to welcome grieving patrons, searching for a place to rest their dead. The house was also strange, because it also had a large tower that rose high in the sky, almost in the center of the building, and looked like a miniature lighthouse complete with the windowed panorama view and large light at the center. It was quite a hike to the strange house, as the cemetery was vast, but he liked the walk. It gave him a chance to think on things, making mental notes on any issues he could see on the trek back. A patch of dead grass here, a broken tombstone that would need repairs there, weeds that needed pulling, a new coat of paint on a wall. He filed all these away in his memory banks and made a promise to rectify the problems first thing in the morning, after he had his cup of Joe and buttered toast, of course.

“Hey Chuck!” a voice yelled.

Charles sighed and shook his head. He hated the nickname “Chuck” and would quickly correct anybody who called him that. But he knew that corrections this time around would go ignored, as they so often did when Alex came calling.

Alex walked from behind a tree on Charles’ right, a somber look on her face. She was tall for a girl, about 5’11, with pale, bone white skin. Her hair was cut short in a bob and messy, as if it hadn’t seen a comb or conditioner in quite some time. That was in fact the truth, because her hair had indeed _not_ seen a comb or conditioner in some time. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, but she had significantly more years than that, Charles knew. She wore a white, knee length dress. It was old fashioned for sure, but the dress was filthy, covered in dirt and mold. The necklace she wore around her neck wasn’t of gold or silver, and wasn’t adorned with gemstones or charms, but was a jagged scar that crossed from the base of one ear to the other, with stitching crisscrossing to keep her head from flopping backward on her neck. Alex was dead, and Charles’ closest friend in the cemetery.

Alex walked up close to him, one arm bent and crossed over her body, holding onto the other arm. She had a pained expression on her face, and opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Charles gazed into her eyes and knew that had she been alive at this very moment, tears would be streaming down her face. But no tears came, for there was no tears for the dead. Finally, she spoke.

“I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry, Chuck.”

Charles averted his gaze, looking down and nodding somberly. His tears had already come and gone, and he would miss his father dearly, but the time for sadness had come and gone. He now needed to take care of business, and his was the business of the dead. “Thanks Alex, it’s alright.” He smiled. “You’ll show him around, won’t you?” he asked.

A small smile crossed her face. “I don’t think he will need showing around Chuck, it’s his cemetery.” She paused, then continued. “Well, I guess it’s yours now?”

He nodded. “It is.” His eyes met hers and he gave a great big smile. “I know he’s in good hands with you around.”

She sniffed, probably because of instinct rather than of excess moisture building up in her nose and nodded. “Hey, um…I’ll walk with you to your house! It’s getting dark and I know how scared of the dark you are, Chuck!”

A small laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. “No offense, but I kind of want some alone time. You understand, don’t you?” he asked.

“Oh. Yes, of course. I get it.” She sighed. “Well, if you need anything or if I can do anything for you Chuck, don’t hesitate to ask! You know how I bored I can get!” Despite having suffered a gruesome death, Alex was always such a ray of sunshine in Chuck’s life. He would have loved to have known her alive. Though by now, she would be in her 50’s or 60’s, having been alive and dead long before Charles had come into this world. 

He offered her one more smile and gave a slight bow of his head, turning back to continue the trek to his house. He still had a long night ahead of him. He still needed to bathe, look over invoices for upcoming funeral processions, and the most important task of all.

He needed to prepare the ritual to bring Dad back from the dead.

Michael Rowe pulled his old beat down 1986 Oldsmobile to the entrance of the Clark Family Motuary and Cemetery. He checked his watch as he put the car into park and stepped out, smoothed his old suit, and grabbed the briefcase on the passenger’s seat. He made his way up the long, winding path leading to the house he assumed was the welcome center for the Cemetery. He knocked on the door, then entered the building.

As he entered, he was greeted by the receptionist. She was rather pale looking, and what was with that hair? Had she never seen a comb before? She wore a purple turtleneck sweater and greeted Michael with a smile. “Welcome, how may I help you today?” she beamed at him.

Coughing, Michael said “Hello, my name is Michael Rowe and I am with the First Trust National Bank.” Reaching into his front pocket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to the receptionist. She eyed the card with a raised brow and then handed it back to him. 

“I presume you are here for Chuck?”

He cleared his throat, “Actually, I am here for Samuel, the owner of the cemetery.” She steepled her fingers and raised an eyebrow. There was something odd about this young lady, something that Michael couldn’t quite put his finger on. If she was the type of person this cemetery had on the payroll, it was no wonder that their debts were sky high. 

The young lady picked up the telephone on her desk and pressed a button. She muttered a few words into the receiver and then hung up. She sat back in her seat, just staring at Michael with those cold eyes, expressionless. He shifted nervously at her gaze, tearing his eyes away and focusing his attention to the decorations in the lobby and checked his watch again. _This lady gives me the creeps,_ he thought to himself as he tried desperately to avoid looking into those what seemed like soulless orbs. A door opened to the left of the receptionist desk, a man standing in the doorway. He expected Samuel, but the younger man that stood in the doorway was not Samuel. He beckoned to Michael and then walked inside of the room. 

Straightening and making an effort to avoid the gaze of the receptionist, he followed the man into the room.

The room was small and sparsely decorated. The room had only a single desk with a lamp on it and a single window. There was a file cabinet in the corner, there were papers neatly stacked on the desk, a telephone, and a tall stand fan in the corner of the room. The man had walked behind the desk and picked up a steaming mug from off it. He took a sip and said nothing.

Michael cleared his throat again before talking. “Hello, my name is….”

“Michael Rowe.” The man behind the desk interrupted.

“Um…yes. And I, um, I’m with…”

“First National Trust Bank.” The man interrupted again. He took another sip.

Michael paused before continuing further. He had a sneaking suspicion that this man was “Chuck” and that “Chuck” knew exactly what he was here for. He nervously reached up to his collar and straightened his already straight tie. Steeling his nerves, he decided to follow through with what he came here to do. He had done this several times before, he was a professional after all. It was his job to deliver the bad news to delinquent accounts. The number of homes and businesses, properties and vehicles that were taken back because of the news he gave he lost count. He had been in this situation countless times, and yet, this time was difficult for him. Perhaps, because of the location involved. Maybe, because of the creepy receptionist. In any case, he just wanted to get this over with and finish off the rest of his day.

Michael decided that if this man whom he assumed, the acting manager in charge, wasn’t going to be pleasant then he would just rip off the proverbial bandage. “Samuel is delinquent in his obligations to the bank. We have given him several chances to rectify the problem of the balance owed and have given him his final warning. There will be no more warnings. You are to vacate the premises in 30 days’ time, at which point the cemetery will now be in possession of the bank.” He took a deep breath as he finished, realizing that what he said had come out as a long burst. 

Charles took another sip out of the mug. “…was delinquent.” 

Michael cocked his head, not quite understanding.

“My father died.” Charles said.

This surprised Michael. This man that stood on the other side of the desk had to be Samuel’s son. He kept his composure and continued. “Be that as it may, I am sorry for your loss, but this is business, and even though your…father…has passed, there is still the matter that _this business_ owes the bank. Regardless of who is running it. It’s nothing personal.”

Charles took another sip, saying nothing. He just stood there, staring at him.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Michael though it best to perhaps offer an olive branch of sorts. Now was not the time to take away the cemetery, this young man had just suffered a loss, and Michael was feeling generous. _Ill give him another month, maybe work out a payment plan with this young man. It’s apparent he is in charge now, and he lost his father. I’m not completely cruel, _he thought to himself and shivered. This place gave him the chills.

“Look, I am truly sorry for your loss. Perhaps we can work something out. I tell you what, I will personally file an extension for you so you can pay back the delinquent debt. This is your final offer.” Michael offered a weak smile, at what he thought was a very generous solution. This young man could keep the cemetery, and the bank would get its money. It might take several months and Michael was unsure how this man would be able to pay it all back, but he would come back in a month’s time after the pain of loss that this man must be feeling right now had lessened some degree and then take the cemetery. _One more month won’t hurt anything, _he thought to himself.

“How much does my father owe?” Charles asked simply, holding the steaming mug in one hand.

“Um, he owes in the neighborhood of five hundred thousand dollars.”

Charles took another sip. “No.”

“N-no?” Michael stammered.

“No.”

Now Michael could feel his temper rising. He had offered this young man a chance, a chance to save the property. He had given his father, Samuel several chances to pay the debt down, and while he made as many payments he could, they were often late and frequently much less than the minimum payment due. And now after deciding in the kindness of his heart, that he would offer one final chance to Charles to save the property, only to be met with cold indifference? He had had enough.

“Quit the premises in 30 days’ time. Good day, sir.” He spun on his heel and stormed out, making a point to avoid looking in the general direction of the receptionist desk and slamming the door on the way out.

Charles stood there for a moment with the mug and looked down into the dark liquid. His father had not told him how deep in the depths they were as far as the financial health of the cemetery was concerned. He assumed that his father kept this from him to protect him. In any case, he would not lose this cemetery. His mind raced, thinking of possible solutions to this problem. Then it came to him. He didn’t want to do it, but this was his home, the home of all the undead he raised over the years. 

He would not lose this home, and he would do whatever was necessary to keep it.

He set the mug on the table and left the room, walking past the receptionist and then opening another door in the lobby which opened into a stairwell. He heard Alex say something, but what she said fell on deaf ears. When something needed to be done, when a problem presented itself, Charles had a laser focus on solving the problem. And this problem needed resolving. 

He took the stairs two at a time, ascending the tower to the top of the mini lighthouse. At the base of the lamp was a switch and with a flick of his finger, turned on the blazing light.

Michael still fumed as he walked the long winding path back to the entrance of the cemetery where his car was parked. He looked back at the old house and noticed that the light at the top of the lighthouse had been turned on. _Such a stupid building, _he thought to himself. _A lighthouse in the middle of all this land…ridiculous._

As he made his way back to his car, he noticed that the front gates of the cemetery that led into the parking lot had been closed, and an old man stood facing the gate, locking it with a key. The man turned.

“S-Samuel?” Michael asked warily.

Samuel looked a little worse for wear, Michael noticed. His hair was a mess and his skin had a sickly greenish tone to it. _So…he’s not dead? _He thought to himself as a ghastly smile crossed Samuel’s face that sent Michael reeling. There was something very unnerving about this smile, and his eyes…he possesed the same soulless orbs that the receptionist had. Samuel pocketed the key and started walking towards Michael.

“What is the meaning of this?” he squeaked, rather embarrassingly. It was apparent to Michael that this was all a farce, that this was a trick to scare him and the bank to give up pursuit of fulfillment of the loan. Well, he would not budge, and he was not going to take it anymore. “Samuel, I just spoke to your son, and you know full well…” Samuel lunged at Michael, and he clumsily avoided the lunge almost falling on the ground. As he stumbled, a pathetic yelp escaped his lips. “Samuel! What are you doing?” he yelled as Samuel attempted to grab him again, this time a vicious snarl coming from his lips. 

_This is ridiculous! What is going on here? _Michael thought to himself. Righting himself, he turned and started to make his way down the winding path back to the main office. As he ran, he noticed a quite a few more people had filled the cemetery. Then he noticed something else strange. Everybody in the cemetery stood staring right at him.

Every single one of them.

He slowed, turning in a full circle, seeing even more people come from the woodwork, from behind trees and walls. All these people looked dirty, haggard, clothing in poor shape. He spun again as he realized that these people were walking up to him. _W-what is…what’s going on here? _He thought in a panic as he locked eyes with several of the people closing in. The same, dead eyes as the receptionist, and of Samuel. 

Charles watched from the top of the lighthouse, arms crossed as the walking dead converged on Michael, and he disappeared under a pile of undead. He would get to keep his cemetery after all, at least for a little while.

“Was that really necessary?”

Charles took a sip from his favorite mug and nodded. “You were going to take my home. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Michael Rowe looked terrible. His suit was torn and shredded, long gouge marks marked his flesh, and he had lost an eye, the right side of his face a mangled horror to look at. He buried his face, or what was left of it that is, in his hands and wept. Or at least did what would pass for weeping, had he been alive. 

“So, this is what’s going to happen now,” Charles said as he set down his mug, then picked up the telephone receiver off the base and held it. “You are going to call the bank and make whatever excuse you can think of to bury the problem with the debt. If you do not bury this, I will bury your family. And I _will not_ bring them back.” He held out the phone to Michael. “Think of your wife and child.”

Michael pulled his hands away from his face and looked at Charles, knowing that this was not a thinly veiled threat. Clearly this man had the power to see the threat through. What Michael did not know was how he came to be alive. He remembered the excruciating pain of the death he felt at the hands of the undead. And even worse, the significantly more horrible pain of reanimation. When his eyes opened on that cold steel table, and saw Charles’ grinning face staring at him, counted as the worst horror he had ever experienced. 

He took the phone from Charles and made the call.

“Yes, this is nice. Nice work, son.”

Samuel looked down on the grave that would mark his resting place during the day, when the cemetery brimmed with life, so to speak. As patrons visited during the day, to visit dead relatives, or to make future arrangements, Samuel would sleep here, like the rest of the bodies in the cemetery, each in their own private space. Charles smiled at the compliment, knowing that he made his father proud.

“I’m glad you like it dad. Now remember, try to stay in there during the day, okay? We don’t want to scare anybody off."

“Sure son.” Samuel wrung his hands and Charles could see that something was on his father’s mind.

“What’s wrong, dad?” he asked.

“Well…um,” his father struggled with the words. Then said, almost dumbfounded “Necromancy? Where did you learn such a thing? And how did you manage to keep it from me?” Charles could see that this was hard for his father to wrap his head around.

“Dad, I’ll explain everything, I promise. We’ve got all the time in the world.” He wrapped his arm around his father’s shoulder and turned him, leading him back to the office house.


End file.
